


Stitch by Stitch

by jamcake_muses



Series: Tolkien Prompts and Drabbles [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Embroidery, Family Bonding, Fourth Age, Gen, Nerdiness, a pinch of morbidity, several other finweans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamcake_muses/pseuds/jamcake_muses
Summary: Snapshots of Turgon and Caranthir's growing friendship through the ages.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Turgon of Gondolin
Series: Tolkien Prompts and Drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129817
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Stitch by Stitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabrielseven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielseven/gifts).



> Based on Tumblr prompt: Turgon | Caranthir + Unfinished Business

Turukáno stood at the edge of Fëanáro’s estate clutching his little sack of threads. He had little choice and this might be his best option. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and walked towards the sprawling manor. He was greeted at the door by a servant. 

‘I am here to see Morifinwë.’ he said and he was directed to the back of the estate where Carnistir was lounging by a large fountain reading a book. 

‘Macalaurë is not here.’ Carnistir said before Turukáno could speak. 

‘I did not come to see him.’ he said, shuffling his feet. ‘I came to see you.’

‘Why?’ Carnistir narrowed his eyes. Turukáno did not blame him. He and Carnistir did not interact beyond small talk and pleasantries. It was not like he had not tried, but they simply had nothing in common and Carnistir’s prickly nature did not make building bridges easy. 

‘I have a favor to ask of you. I need you to teach me how to embroider.’ 

‘Why?’ Carnistir repeated, frowning. ‘I am sure there are several elves who would be more than willing to tutor you in Tirion.’ 

‘I am certain, but this is a matter that requires some discretion and I would prefer to keep it within the family.’ he replied. 

Carnistir only stared at him expectantly, clearly not convinced that was entire story.

‘There is someone I wish to court.’ He sighed. ‘She expressed an interest, well, more than an interest in embroidering. I just wish to make a good impression. Can you help me?’ 

‘Findis also has some skill with the thread. Why do you not ask her?’ Carnistir replied.

‘I… cannot.’ he said. ‘She is one of her hand-maidens. Please, I have brought you a bribe.’ He held out the sack to him. 

A strange twinkle came into Carnistir’s eyes as he took the sack from him and peered in. He pulled out rolls of colorful threads from it and examined them. 

‘I was told they were quite rare and harvested from Yavanna’s woods.’ he added. 

Carnistir put them back in the sack and handed it back to him.

‘You were robbed of your coin. Come, let me show you what those threads should look like.’ he said, walking back to into he manor. 

‘Wait,’ said Turgon catching up to him. ‘Does this mean you will help me?’ 

‘Yes, if only to save you from cheap imitations and your coin.’

* * *

Turukáno spent two days a week in Carnistir’s studio which was in farthest corner in the East wing of the Manor. Carnistir was surprisingly a patient teacher. He would set him exercises and then he would sit with him working on his own projects. The first exercises came out miserably. Even an untrained elfling could have produced better work, but there was no sharp jibe from Carnistir. Instead, he gently corrected his technique and asked him to do it again. When Carnistir spoke about his craft, all the harsh lines on face melted away replaced by a delighted smile and twinkle in his eye. Carnistir not only taught him about how to embroider but also the how the different kinds of threads were made, how they were harvested and how the techniques were developed over time. It had started as an interest to make a good impression on Elenwë but as the weeks passed he genuinely became interested and dove into the craft with gusto. 

Another thing he came to learn was that there was always chaos in Manor but Carnistir’s studio was an oasis of calm. Sometimes Maitimo came and sat with them. He would not say much, just quietly sip his tea and take his leave. Sometimes he asked Carnistir to look over some accounting for various guilds. He also discovered a great deal about his prickly cousin. Carnistir had a special interest in both morbid and romantic poetry, he even wrote some himself. A small bookshelf was entirely dedicated to his collection. Carnistir had shrewd mind for politics, and Turukáno found that he would not want to be up against him in councils and courts. 

‘Well, I think you are ready to ask Elenwë to spend an afternoon working on your embroidery together.’ Carnistir said one afternoon, examining his attempt at a squirrel. ‘It is quite good.’ He handed it back to him.

‘Thank you.’ he said. 

* * *

Carnistir was surprised when Turukáno arrived the next week with needles and thread at hand. Nonetheless, he led him to his studio. 

‘I am surprised to find you here.’ he said. ‘Macalaurë tells me that Elenwë agreed to court you.’ 

‘As hard as it may be to believe, I have come to enjoy embroidering with you.’ he said. ‘You are not as unlikable as you believe.’ he grinned. ‘Besides, I have something for you, as a thank you.’ 

He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a neat box tied with brown string. Carnistir open it to find freshly cultivated silk from the Yavanna’s woods. 

‘You mentioned wanting to experiment with dyeing them yourself.’ he said. ‘No, it is real. I harvested it myself.’ 

Carnistir fingered through the threads. He was beyond touched by this gift. 

‘Would you like to dye them with me?’ he asked. 

A delighted grin spilt on Turukáno’s face and he nodded. 

Carnistir later found out from Findekáno that Irissë told Elenwë that Turukáno was interested in embroidery to annoy her brother, when in truth neither of them were particularly that fond of it. The following week, Irissë received an anonymous gift of a finely etched hunting knife, with small deep blue sapphires set in along its pommel.

* * *

Carnistir and Turukáno continued to meet at least once a week in Carnistir’s studio. They talked about various things as they worked on their own projects. They gossiped about the court and their cousins, Turukáno spoke at length about architecture and his minor annoyances at court, Carnistir shared some of his own poetry. The seemingly sudden development of their relationship baffled their families. They were not quite sure what to make of it but they mostly did not concern themselves too much as long as there was no blood. 

As the years went by, they began to embark on several joint projects. They threaded many landscapes together. They even made a tapestry of all of Finwë’s children, even Fëanáro caught in a rare moment of lightheartedness by a pond in the palace gardens for their Grandfather. They even took some excursions to harvest rare silks, cottons, and other fabrics. 

When Turukáno and Elenwë got married, Carnistir presented them with portrait of two of them together and a love poem he worded himself stitched along the edges of their portrait. Turukáno hung that above the fireplace in their chambers. 

Soon after his wedding, things began to turn sour between their fathers. It became more and more difficult and uncomfortable for Turukáno to spend time in Carnistir’s studio. They met less and less in the years that followed until Turukáno decided to put his foot down. 

Carnistir in his study, arms crossed and wearing his signature scowl. Turukáno was delighted to see him. He was not sure if he would accept his invitation but here he was in the flesh, looking as please as he could given the situation. 

‘Well,’ Carnistir said, impatiently. ‘What is it that you wished to discuss with me?’ 

If this were any of his other cousins, he would have insisted on exchanging pleasantries first, but Carnistir appreciated a direct approach. 

‘It has been difficult to come to the studio the last few years. There does not seem to be an end in sight for this feud between our fathers.’ he said. ‘I do not wish to forsake our friendship on the account of this squabble between our fathers.’ 

Carnistir studied him with his sharp grey eyes. His eyes softened as he uncrossed his arms and collapsed into the chair across from Turukáno. 

‘I tire of their squabble. Father has become rather difficult, cloistered in his forges and somewhat unreasonable when it comes to Nolofinwë and his children. If Maitimo and Findekáno can continue their friendship unheeded, I do not see why we cannot.’

‘Come with me.’ Turukáno rose and walked to a narrow door on the far end of his study. The door opened to a large room with wide arched windows overlooking a courtyard. The room was full of bolts of fabric, shelves lined with threads, and any tool that an embroiderer could ask for. Carnistir walked through the room inspecting the tools, and the threads with an awed look on his face. Turukáno thought this look alone was worth the effort of creating the studio. 

‘Well, what do you think?’ Turukáno grinned. 

‘I think we better invent a reason for me to visit the palace often.’ Carnistir grinned back. 

* * *

Little Idril was sleeping in a basinet in the quiet of her father’s studio. Carnistir and Turukáno were hunched over their latest tapestry. Nerdanel and Eärwen had visited to greet Idril and welcome the little babe into the family. Anairë the proud grandmother would take any excuse to steal some time with the new addition the family had invited herself. The three women cooed and passed around Idril as they consumed tea. Turukáno had not seen them this happy in years. He had quickly made a rough sketch, in an effort to preserve that memory. Carnistir suggested they turn that into a tapestry. 

Suddenly there were raised voices from the courtyard, voices that sounded an awful lot like their fathers. They exchanged an alarmed look as they scurried to the windows to see what was happening. Nolofinwë and Fëanáro were in a heated argument, not unusual in the recent years but there was something different about this argument. They could not make out what they were saying. Nolofinwë spat out something and suddenly everything was still and in the next moment Fëanáro had his blade pointed at his throat, face twisted in anger. Carnistir went very still. He had seen that look before. The look of absolute hatred and disdain but not on his Father but on Melkor. That was how he was painted, sculpted, sketched by the Elves who made the Great Journey. When Fëanáro removed his blade from Nolofinwë’s throat, Carnistir let out a breath he did know he was holding. He laid a comforting hand on Turukáno’s shoulders. 

‘You need to go to your family, now.’ he said. ‘I shall make myself scarce.’

‘Carnistir, I shall see you next week.’ Turukáno said. He looked positively disturbed and scared. 

Carnistir nodded and left the studio. They did not each other next week , or the week after or in the years that followed. The next time they saw each other was on a dark beach, strewn with bodies and Carnistir holding a blade dripping with blood. 

* * *

‘He refuses to see any of us. Even Mother.’ Maglor was saying.

‘It is hard to adjust to being re-embodied. He has always been a bit reclusive.’ Finrod soothed.

‘I am worried about him, Finrod.’ 

‘Who are we talking about?’ Turgon asked. 

‘Caranthir.’ 

‘What? He is here? When? Why did anyone not tell me?’

‘It has been just a shy of a year.’ Maglor replied. ‘He was already so prickly about visitors, I …’ he faltered at the look Turgon gave him. ‘I am sorry, I should have told you.’ 

Turgon had been re-embodied for at least a decade now. He had sought out his family, his mother, Elenwë and Idril. For the first few years, he and Elenwë lived in a small estate a month away from Tirion. Once he regained a sense of peace, he came back to Tirion to take up his duties in court, much to Anairë and Arafinwë’s delight. He had moved back to his wing of the palace and learned to settle into this different life. He used his old bed chambers, his old study, but he had not yet dared to go into his…no, their old studio. That evening he went to their studio and perused through the art they had created together. He lost himself in memories until Elenwë persuaded him to retreat to their chambers.  
  
The next morning, he sent a message asking Caranthir if he could visit. He sent another when that went unanswered, and another. When fifteen of his messages went unanswered, Turgon decided to take matters into his own hands. He went to the studio and pulled out one of their unfinished tapestries. He packed it along, with the threads and tools they may need and rode out to Caranthir’s little cottage a few miles away from Tirion. 

‘We have unfinished business, Caranthir.’ Turgon slammed the door of the cottage open. 

He did not wait for Caranthir’s response as he invited himself in and spread out the tapestry where he found room. He looked at him, chin lifted, challenging to throw him out, if he dared.

‘It is Moryo.’ he said at length his eyes wandered over to the tapestry. ‘I do not care to be him again. It is best that he die.’ he said with some venom. 

Turgon softened. ‘How about an ellon who enjoys to embroider?’ he asked. 

‘Yes, I think I can manage that.’ he said finally. 


End file.
